


sentimentality as a weapon (of mass seduction)

by refectory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Female Draco Malfoy, Female Harry Potter, Femslash, Original Character POV, Original Character is Viktor Krum's cousin and only here because I wanted Office!Drarry, Outsiders POV, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7583776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/refectory/pseuds/refectory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The smile that comes across Harriet Potter’s face is one full of love. Her eyes shine, and the secretary smiles helplessly in response, tucking a lock of Harriet Potter's bird-nest hair behind her ear. “I’m not saying it <b>didn’t</b>, I’m saying—” And whatever Harriet Potter says next is lost to Emil when she raises her secretary’s — <b>wife</b>, apparently — left arm and places her lips against the underside of her forearm.</i><br/> </p><p>It's fifteen years after The-Girl-Who-Lived became the Girl-Who-Vanquished-The-Dark-Lord, and Viktor Krum has a favor to ask of the Head Auror.<br/><i>Or:</i> Harry is accidentally sentimental in a business meeting and her wife, the one secretary who can <i>always</i> be counted on to eavesdrop and <i>not</i> be fired for it, has <i>feelings</i> about it. <i>Serious. Feelings.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	sentimentality as a weapon (of mass seduction)

**Author's Note:**

> They're girls because I'm gay & there isn't enough femslash on this website. Draco isn't ever referred to by her name tbh. Apologies For That + this is my first fic so. Chill.
> 
> Original Character Emil exists because I love outsiders POV and I couldn't think of a canon character to throw into this situation. I had to make one up. _I had to._

Emil Vodenicharov sits in the complimentary flying seats of a standard British Ministry waiting room. He is not alone in this waiting room but his nerves are such that he scarcely notices any of the others. He sits under a large coat of arms, specific for the Auror Office instead of the general Department of Magical Law Enforcement crest.

The Auror Office displays their coat of arms proudly: two crimson wands crossed over each other in a plus sign against a dark blue shield, framed by a fierce dragon, a hissing snake, a roaring lion, a screaming badger, and a squawking eagle. Underneath the protective animals are the Latin words: _Qui autem non liberantur tuemur._

It is indisputably Emil’s favourite part of the room.

There are twelve flying seats in total in this waiting room, comfortable and overly plush, hovering near the wall but not Permanently Stuck, not like the waiting chairs in Bulgaria are.

Emil supposes the British Ministry trusts its subjects not to spirit away the free chairs. 

In Bulgaria, thieves are not a commodity. Before the Bulgarian Ministry had Permanently Stuck the chairs to the wall, there was not a single family worth their salt that did not have a Ministry-chair in their home. Emil has one in his family home, right below a plaque that said _‘Ministry Chair: Do Not Remove_ ’.

Emil feels a wave of homesickness wash through him before he forcibly pushes it down. _No,_ he tells the memories of his family.  _This is what’s best for me. Here, in England, is where I am supposed to be._

He almost manages to convince himself of it. It would be easier to believe it if he’d advanced through the ranks since he joined the Auror Division in Britain, but then, that’s what he’s _here_ for, isn’t it? Waiting outside the Head Auror’s office among the half-creatures and pointy-faced purebloods? To advance?

He makes a mental note: _Send Uncle Viktor a nice gift this Yule._

It is his Uncle Viktor he owes this opportunity to, after all.

Emil’s eyes are trained on his jittering leg when a figure stops before him. He catches their scuffed shoes and jolts. The robes this wizard wears are worn yet Emil doesn’t feel like they’re of superior quality to his own spotless, tailored robes. If anything, they _intimidate_ him. The robes belong to someone who has worn them into a battlefield. That’s more than can be said for Emil.

He slowly looks up, almost afraid of what he’ll find.

Instead of a ghastly mess of scars and curse burns, a freckled face frowns down at him. The man has alarmingly bright hair. It’s a mess of orange on his head.

Emil blinks.

“You’re Krum’s kid?” The man asks, raising his eyebrows. Emil wonders what he sees. Wonders if he’s impressed by him, like people often are by Emil’s uncle. But Emil is not his uncle; Emil is smaller, skinnier, rounder in the face, with softer eyes. He doesn’t cut a striking figure like Uncle Viktor does.

He knows it’s what everyone sees when they look at him. But that’s Emil’s secret — his strengths do not lie in the physical. Emil graduated from Durmstrang as the smartest wizard in his year. That’s no small achievement.

Emil is silent a moment too long. He jumps to his feet, nerves a wreck, and corrects, “Cousin, on my mother’s side, actually, but yes. Yes! That’s me — Vodenicharov. Emil Vodenicharov, that is. Merry meet, sir!”

The man rears back slightly at their close proximity, feet planted to the ground. He looks dubious now. “Let me guess: Vodenicharov are an Old Family, right? Bulgarian’s version of Wizarding Royalty?”

This wizard knows of his family? “Well — yes, I suppose, though we’re not as important as the Ditrimov’s.” Emil’s mouth drops open. “How’d you guess?”

The man makes a face. “Lucky guess,” He mutters before squaring his shoulders and extending his hand. Emil catches it eagerly. “Ron Weasley, by the way. Senior Auror. I knew your uncle. We weren’t really _friends_ , but he _did_ date my wife for a bit. ‘Course, she wasn’t my wife then, but still. Reckon me and him have enough in common to _count_ as friends, if you know what I mean.”

Emil shakes his hand, eyes wide. He tries to ignore the last part about his uncle and almost succeeds. “ _You’re_ Ron Weasley? I’m shaking _Ron Weasley’s_ hand? That’s smashing!” Weasley cringes. Emil doesn’t notice, asking, “Did I say that right? That’s what Brits say, yes?”

“What, ‘smashing’? I suppose, yeah, but it isn’t — ”

“Smashing!” Emil interrupts, eyes wide. He grins at Weasley. “I am a _very big fan of yours,_ Mr Weasley. I’ve read all about you in Lee Jordan’s _Seven Years of Fighting: How the Golden Trio Vanquished Voldemort Once and For All_ and I really think — ”

“That’s fascinating, mate,” Weasley interrupts, only to grind their arms to a stop. He pries Emil’s fingers away pointedly until Emil clues in and realizes, with a flush of embarrassment, that the entire time they’d been talking, Emil hadn’t let go of his hand. How _humiliating_.

“Oh, sorry, sorry. I didn’t realize… Ma says I chatter a lot.”

“She does, does she?” Weasley twitches his fingers, seeming to test that he can still feel them. He shoots Emil a begrudgingly amused look, so Emil takes it to mean he won’t be thrown out on his ass for making a fool out of himself. “Can’t see why she’d say that.”

Emil frowns. Then he realizes that was meant to be a joke, and laughs uproariously.

Weasley winces. “… Right. Well, then, might as well buck up and get this Hippogriff on the move. Follow me.” He turns on his heel and begins to walk. Emil scrambles to catch up, dogging his heels loyally. “We’ll sort this out with Harry right away. You’re the one who wants private mentoring, yeah?”

Um.

Hoping he isn’t overstepping, Emil says, “Uncle Viktor said he would ask a favour of the Head Auror to get me automatically advanced into field work. Isn’t _that_ why I’m here?”

Weasley shoots him a sidelong look of reproach. “What, you think the Head Auror the type to advance rookies into the battlefield as a favour for old school friends? Don’t be daft. She can’t risk the reputation of the Auror Office like that. Imagine how the Prophet would squawk! They’d write all sorts of rubbish about ‘nepotism’ and how she ‘isn’t fit for the job’.” Weasley snorts, and sharply shakes his head. He murmurs, “ _automatically advanced_ ” under his breath, and laughs.

Emil didn’t think it was a joke. He hopes he doesn’t have to laugh at this one. He doesn’t find it funny.

Weasley stops in front of the secretary.

Emil’s heart stops.

The secretary is a pretty, fair-skinned woman with silky blonde hair tied into an elaborate bun. She has high cheekbones, a pointy chin, and nails manicured to black-painted claws. She’s easily the most beautiful woman Emil has ever encountered and he almost chokes on his tongue. The goddess wears a robe made of light, obviously expensive material, open to reveal a finely tailored blouse and a pencil skirt made of the same luxurious material of her outer robes.

Even his mother, Emil is sure, would be speechless in front of her.

Weasley nods his head in acknowledgement to her, looking casual in the face of her beauty. Emil doesn’t understand _how._ How is this man not _completely floored?_ Is he not _human_? Does he not bleed red, like every other male Emil knows?

He must not, for instead of spluttering like Emil would sure to do if _he_ spoke, Weasley says, “Oi oi, Malfoy. Is she free?”

The secretary looks up from her schedules and arches a pale eyebrow. “For you, Weasley? Never _._ ” She sounds as pretty as she looks; a cool, lilted voice to match her beauty.

Weasley rolls his eyes. “ _Ha ha_. You’re hilarious. Seriously, though, I’ve got Krum’s little spawn here and judging by why he _thinks_ he’s here, he needs a reality check. Immediately.”

Emil frowns.

The secretary gives him a brief glance that chills Emil to the bone. Then she goes back to staring blankly at Weasley. She gauges something from his face that makes her sigh explosively. The sound makes Emil jump.

Leaning back in her chair, the secretary waves her hand dismissively (managing to make the action almost _elegant_ ) and says, “Go on, then. Nothing I could say that’d get through your thick skull anyhow.”

“Your condescension is, as always, much appreciated, Malfoy, cheers.” Weasley replies sardonically, a smirk on his face. He whirls around and makes towards the door.

Before he opens it, the secretary bites, “Don’t _dawdle_ either, Weaslebee! The idiot’s been procrastinating important reports for _three weeks now_ , she doesn’t need _you_ distracting her. She can do that well enough on her own.”

Weasley doesn’t respond, a full-blown grin on his face as he pushes open the door and gestures grandly inside. He looks at Emil and says, “After you, Vodenicharov.” Emil’s afraid of what will happen to him if he hesitates, and almost trips over his robes scrambling into the room.

The secretary lets out an indignant huff. “Are you _listening to me_ , Weaslebee? I’m _serious!_ ” Weasley makes an elaborate show of closing the door. Her voice pierces through the door to yell, “ _Don’t distract her!_ ” before the Privacy Charms of the room kick in.

Weasley chuckles to himself, incredibly amused, and Emil kind of wants to smile himself, even if he feels like his stomach is on the floor. This feeling of wanting to vomit his nerves out of his system only intensifies when a light voice behind him intones, “ _Really_ , Ron. You ought to be nicer to her. You aren’t school children anymore.”

Emil whips around, and feels all higher brain functions promptly _freeze_ at the sight of the woman behind the desk.

Glowing green eyes. Messy black hair. Thin-framed glasses.

_Lightning_

_scar._

Oh, Merlin _._

_That’s Harriet Potter._

A toad gets caught in Emil’s throat, and he makes an embarrassing squawking noise before lapsing into silence. His face feels like its burning. His heart is pounding against his ribs and Emil isn’t altogether opposed to the idea of it bursting out. If anyone deserves to _literally_ hold Emil’s heart in their hands, Harriet Potter has earned the privilege. In fact, if Emil were to drop dead right now, he would have no regrets.

_None._

He is standing before _Harriet Potter_ , The-One-Who-Vanquished-The-Dark-Lord and ended his terrible twenty-year reign.

 _She_ was the one who freed Dark Bulgarian families across the nation from the Dark Lord’s poisonous touch — she was the one who freed _Emil’s_ family. Emil’s father bares the Dark Mark to this day, faded as it is, and he’s always made it clear that he owes his allegiance to Harriet Potter, from the day the Dark Lord fell and every day afterwards. The entire _Vodenicharov family_ owed their lives to Harriet Potter.

And she was _there_.

Behind the desk, quill in hand, a stack of paperwork at the corner of her table.

Smiling.

_In his direction._

Weasley’s voice sounds as if it’s coming from underwater as he says, “I can’t help it, Harry! She’s so easy to piss off, even after all these years! You’d think with the way she’s been dealing with all the rubbish the press says about her, she’d deal with _me_ better.”

“You know how it is. Weasley and Malfoy’s have always had a way of getting under each other’s skin.” Harriet Potter grins crookedly and barks a short laugh. “I’m just glad you two aren’t sending Hexes at each other’s backs.”

Weasley rubs the back of his neck, “Aw, Harry, come on. That’s old news.”

“It was _Yule_.”

“Which was ages ago!”

“It’s March.”

Weasley raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, so what if it was? She deserved it.”

There’s a crackling sound inside the room before the secretary;s voice, clear and haughty, snarls, “ _Piss off, Weasley!_ ” Even Weasley looks surprised by the addition — so Emil doesn’t feel completely idiotic for being confused — but then his face clears.

There is adoration and pride on his face as he muses, “Guess ‘Mione had those eetter-comp things worked in after all.”

“Intercom, Ron. _Intercom._ ”

Weasley waves his hands. “Whatever, sure, I said that, didn’t I?” Harriet Potter smiles fondly and says nothing to that. Then she raises her eyebrows pointedly and nods her head in Emil’s direction. Weasley makes a noise and puts a hand on Emil’s nape. He sounds completely unashamed as he says, “Right, almost forgot about this one.”

Emil wrinkles his nose. Him, _forgotten?_ That’s — he’s the heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Vodenicharov. You can’t just _forget_ about him.

But that seems to be what happened regardless.

Emil isn’t impressed. By the look on Harriet Potter’s face, neither is she.

“Charming, Ron,” Harriet Potter says drolly. She stands up, decked in full, regal Auror robes and comes out from behind her desk. Emil holds his breath.

Harriet Potter is a slight woman, lithe and small, but not diminutive. She’s probably the most powerful person Emil has ever breathed the same air as, and she doesn’t even appear to _notice._ She stands in front of them, arms crossed and leaning against her desk. Her legs stretch out in front of her. The casual stance is more intimidating than Emil thinks she’s going for.

Weasley tightens his hand around Emil’s neck for a fraction of a second. “This,” He says, something unreadable in his tone, waggling his eyebrows, “is _Emil._ He’s — ”

Harriet Potter interrupts, face lightening. “Viktor’s cousin,” She finishes, and something inside of Emil dies and is revived in a spectacular fashion as it sinks in that _Harriet Potter knows who he is._

“Sorry, I didn’t realize who you were, or that you’d arrived,” Harriet Potter continues, “Usually Draco informs me of visitors.”

A voice from the desk says, in a judging tone, “ _I never sent him to see you because he never came to see_ me.” Emil can feel the secretary’s glare on him through the door. It burns into the back of his head. “ _Don’t blame me for his incompetence. I won’t have it._ ”

“Unnecessary.” Harriet Potter looks bemused as she says it, not chastising, and she glances at the door with a soft smile on her face. “Manners, Draco.”

“ _Always defender of the weak, aren’t you, Potter?_ ”

“Last names? Really?”

The secretary huffs, once again mysteriously penetrating the Privacy Wards to speak. Emil really wants to know how she’s doing that. “ _It’s the only way to communicate my displeasure with you when you’re being especially thick._ ” And then, pointedly: “ _Potter._ ”

Harriet Potter opens her mouth to parry but Weasley cuts them off with an annoyed, “I’ve been having such a good day. Don’t ruin it with your … ” He flaps his hand at Harriet Potter and, presumably, the mysterious place the secretary's voice has been coming from. “… _Thing_.”

“Just for you, Ron, I might even consider it.” Harriet Potter turns to Emil and smiles, aiming to welcoming and falling a bit short. Emil would tense up at her attention if he wasn’t already as wound tight as could be.

“So. _Emil_.” She begins.

Emil swallows. _Loudly._

“You’re a Bulgarian citizen, are you not?” Not trusting himself to speak, Emil nods. Harriet Potter continues in a vaguely-lecturing tone. It’s scary, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Then why are you here? In Britain training as a Rookie when you could be doing the exact same thing in your home country? The Bulgarian Auror Taskforce is nothing to scoff at. The Albena Alekseev Non-Magical Discrimination Act established during the early 1900s ensures that the candidates are composed of magically diverse witches and wizards. Head Auror Desislav is an intelligent man and an outstanding leader. As far as I can see, Bulgaria’s Auror Office isn’t so significantly inferior to the British Ministry’s that one would feel obliged to escape across the country to — ”

And truly, there is no reason for him to do so, but Emil, the _gigantic fool that he is,_

interrupts

_Harriet_

_Potter._

“ _You’re_ the reason I wanted to be a British Auror instead of a Bulgarian one,” Emil blurts, eyes wide.

Harriet Potter seems to completely halt, the rest of the words melting on her tongue, a startled look on her face. Emil’s brain catches up with his mouth. He flushes all the way down to his toes and wishes, desperately, for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Oh, Merlin. He’s gone and done it now, hasn’t he?

“I — ” Harriet Potter runs her fingers through her hair and readjusts the position of her glasses with a knuckle. “That’s — quite flattering to hear, Emil, thank you.”

She doesn’t seem to know what else to say after that, and shifts in the spot minutely. Emil nods, eyes glued to the floor in horror and he mouths, oh _merlin_ , over and over to himself.

“’S alright,” He murmurs. “Um… carry on. Sorry for interrupting.”

“That’s fine. It’s okay. I really am, er, flattered, but I don’t think — ” Harriet Potter continues to fluster, still looking like the rug had been pulled from under her. Gone is the respectable, slightly terrifying Head Auror Potter, and in her place, an awkward woman who still doesn’t quite know how to deal with her fame. “ — Why don’t we get back to discussing — Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Ron! Stop laughing!”

Weasley throws his head back and laughs _louder._ Once he’s calmed down enough, he wipes at his eyes and says, like it’s a big damn secret, “He’s a _big fan_ of Lee’s book.” and _winks_.

Harriet Potter’s eyes widen even more, apparently instant recognizing what book Weasley is talking about, before she flushes. She runs her fingers through her hair again, making it stick up in the back. She looks wearily at Emil, who is still spiralling through a black hole of mortification, and pleads ( _pleads! with emil!)_ , “ _Please_ tell me Hermione is your favorite.”

Weasley _cracks up._ Emil clears his throat five times before he can speak.

“Um — No, My lady, she isn’t,” He splutters, and thinks in horror, _My lady?!_

Weasley bows over and wheezes, “ _My lady!_ ”

Harriet Potter looks like she wants to sink into the earth, too. She messes with her hair again. Emil wishes she wouldn’t keep doing that — her hair looks a mess now, no longer deliberately so, and it’s hurting his eyes to look at it. Any more fingers in it and it’ll look fit for a nesting bird. None of his aunties would be caught dead with their hairs in such a state.

“But,” Harriet Potter sounds pained, “ _Hermione’s_ the Minister for Magic. Isn’t that better than whatever I did?”

Emil’s throat clicks as he gulps. “That’s — well, it’s not to say that _isn’t_ impressive, because it certainly is — _I_ couldn’t imagine being fit for such an important role — and certainly, _certainly_ , I never imagined Britain would evolve so quickly as to accept a _Muggleborn_ Minister — _which isn’t mean to offend!_ I have no problems with Muggleborns _or_ their parents, my Uncle taught me better than that — ”

But he can’t continue, because Weasley’s laughing, still, and it’s loud in his ears, and he can see Harriet Potter sinking slowly, like she wants to escape him, and he doesn’t know _what happens_ , but Emil suddenly —

Well, Emil suddenly just —

He just —

Weasley is still chuckling under his breath, Harriet Potter still looks awkward, and Emil has no doubt the pointy secretary is laughing at him too.

And suddenly, something stiffens up inside Emil’s chest, and he isn’t nervous. He isn’t worried, and his hands aren’t shaking, and he doesn’t feel like he’s about to empty his lunch all over the plush, high-quality carpet.

“My Uncle is Viktor Krum.” He says, steady and centred.

Emil squares his shoulders and _explains_ , “The Krum family is a notorious Grey family in Bulgaria. They’re an Ancient and Noble House, but they have a branch in their family full of Half-blood wizards and witches. Officially — that is to say, during the war — they were the disgraced members who the Main Family shunned. This was done in self-preservation, so the Dark Lord would not wipe out the entire bloodline for standing against his blood purist views. Unofficially, however, that Branch reaped the benefits of Acknowledged Family. That was because they were _never_ disowned in the first place.

“That Branch Family is the Vodenicharov Family. _My_ family. My mother is the Head of the Family, Pureblooded, and my father is Sergei Katranijiev III, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Katranijiev. _Both_ of them were Marked by the Dark Lord, as was my dear brother, Valko.”

Emil pauses, caught in the memory of it. Of the framed pictures of a sister he never knew. Of Valko, who hides his Dark Mark with long-sleeved shirts, even to bed. Of his mother’s Dark Mark, covered in scars from when she tried to cut it out of her skin with a butter knife. Of his father, who peeled back his sleeves to show it to Emil every night, so Emil would know what _‘mistake’_ looked like, before he would draw a lightning bolt on parchment and whisper _‘saviour’_.

Harriet Potter waits patiently for Emil to gather his bearings. There is something soft in her eyes, and though she does not look away from Emil, his story is reminding her of someone else — whoever that person is, _that_ is where Harriet Potter is. It’s all in her eyes.

“It was a mistake,” Emil hisses through his teeth, shaking his head to dislodge a horrible memory. “They’re both benevolent Regents of multicultural families; of course they didn’t agree with his views!” He sighs. “… But my parents are creatures of self-preservation, and they knew that if they did not swear their allegiance to the Dark Lord, he would attack my brother. They knew this because the Dark Lord had already — … already taken my older sister from me. As a warning, he’d said, and as a constant reminder of what would happen should they prove to be disloyal.”

“After that… after that, there was no fighting him. Not for my parents.”

Harriet Potter nods shallowly. “Voldemort was indiscriminate when it came to whose life he ruined beyond repair.” She pauses, then says, “I’m sorry he ever looked in your sister’s direction”, and then nothing more.

Emil nods in thanks for her condolences and continues. “My mother gave birth to me six years before his Falling. I was sworn to him. He was to force the Dark Mark upon me as soon as it was certain I would not die from it, and then I would live in service of him for the rest of my life. That was the plan. You see, the Dark Lord — _chudovishte_ — he had it all figured out. Until _you_ , Harriet Potter. You did what my parents could not — _you killed him_. _You_ didn’t only save my life, you _gave it back to me._ ”

“ _That’s_ why I want to be an Auror.” He breathes steadily out through his nose and meets Harriet Potter’s eyes for the first time today. “Not — not out of _hero worship_ for you, but because — because I want to do that too. I want to go out and fight and — not only _save_ lives, but give them _back_ to people. I know what it’s like to be hopeless. I want to _be_ a symbol of hope for the same country that gave it back to me. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I — I think you should give me a chance.”

And then Emil stopped, and he breathed, and he waited.

Harriet Potter watches him solemnly, face unreadable as she searches his face for something. Emil tries not to squirm under her scrutinizing because he feels in his bones that this is a test. He is being judged.

Harriet Potter is looking through his eyes, into his very soul, for a reason to throw in her lot with him. To risk her reputation as fair to help him be better. She is looking for an Auror she can trust to _fight—_ not for _her_ —but for the principles the Auror’s were founded on.

Qui autem non liberantur tuemur ;

_We defend those who cannot defend themselves._

And whatever she finds, it makes Harriet Potter smile. “Yes,” She says decisively, softly, tilting her head at Emil. “Yes, I’d hoped so. Wait a mo, would you?” She pushes herself up from the desk and walks around to grab a piece of paper from the top of the stack. She walks forward and hands it to Weasley before going back behind her desk and sitting.

Weasley reads the paper quickly. It still does not seem quick enough to Emil, who has resumed fidgeting now that Harriet Potter’s examination is finished. He makes a noise, wrinkling his freckled nose. “You sure about this, Harry?”

“Positive,” Harriet Potter replies smoothly. She finishes writing something with her quill and looks up, propping her chin with her hand. “Emil, do _you_ know what your issue is?”

Emil stands to attention. “Yes, I do.” Harriet Potter waits. Emil slumps slightly and confesses, “I’m very smart. I graduated as the smartest wizard of my year in Durmstrang. The only subject I wasn’t top in was Duelling Class, because it required translating my theoretical knowledge into practical situations. I couldn’t do it. I’m not — “

He makes a noise of pure frustration and wants to pull out his hair. Why is this so hard?

“I don’t know… _how_ to get my magic to… _fight_ using its full potential. I’m good,” He adds, because it’s true, he _is_ a good wizard, but ‘ _good_ ’ isn’t ever good _enough_ when you’re an Auror. You have to be the _best_ in this profession. He finishes. "But I’m not using my full potential.”

It’s somewhat humiliating to lay it all out like this.

“I’m glad you aren’t deluding yourself.” Harriet Potter says, raising her eyebrows in amusement, “You should work on giving yourself more credit, of course, but nothing you said was technically _wrong._ ” Emil nods in agreement. “I have the admire that, if nothing else.”

Harriet Potter hums, eyeing him for a long moment, before nodding to herself. “That’s that then. Emil Vodenicharov, starting from tomorrow, you will be receiving private mentoring from Senior Auror Weasley,” Harriet Potter declares. Emil gasps, happiness lighting him up for the first time.

He cheers before he can help himself.

“ _Thank you thank you thank you_ — ”

“The mentorship will last a minimum requirement of six months — Emil, that’s enough, shut up a bit _, please_ — oh Merlin, I understand now, Professors — after which he has the executive decision to return you to Rookie training, remove your application from the Auror Office, or he can continue mentoring you until such a time he determines you fit for the field.”

“Merlin.” Emil covers his face with his hands and heaves a shuddering breath. “ _Merlin,_ I must be _dreaming._ ”

Harriet Potter quirks a smile at him.

“You will still be required to report to your Rookie Trainer at the start and end of every session but Ron, ultimately, is who you answer to at the end of the day, and who you will be training under. You follow his instructions like they are the law, do you understand?” Emil nods frantically. Harriet Potter is definitely amused as she continues to say, “If you’re insubordinate, Ron can punish you however he sees fit, as long as he doesn’t break the law doing so.”

“That’s perfect!” Emil thinks he’s about to cry, the joy inside of him swelling so quickly, “I’m so _happy_.”

Weasley claps him on the back and laughs. “Merlin’s baggy Y-fronts, Harry, I think you broke him.”

The secretary's voice is deadpan. “ _I’ll help you hide the body. According to the Prophet, I’m especially good at it. That, and getting away with murder._ ”

Harriet Potter absent-mindedly chastises, “You didn’t murder anyone, Draco. Remember?” without looking away from a spontaneously combusting Emil. The secretary's reply is too quiet for Emil to catch but whatever it is, it makes Harriet Potter blush prettily.

Harriet Potter clears her throat. She turns to Weasley and grins. “Don’t go easy on him, Ron.”

Weasley mirrors the grin sharply. “I wouldn’t _dare_ , Harry.”

Emil can’t even feel a shiver of fear that he feels is warranted to such sadistically gleeful faces. He just grins up to his ears and straightens his back. “I won’t let you down,” Emil swears, wiping at his ( _dry_ ) eyes. “I won’t. I’ll be the best damn Auror this office has ever seen.”

“I think you’ll find that your best will be enough,” Harriet Potter adjusts her glasses and rolls up her robe sleeves. She picks up the quill again. “Now! Hate to cut this short but I _do_ have three weeks work of paperwork to catch up on and I think you’ve distracted me for as long as Draco will let you, Ron. You two should… get on with the rest of your day and leave me here to decompose.”

“More than happy to,” Weasley salutes sarcastically and in a jolly tone. The office door opens. The Veela-like secretary waits in the doorway, staring right over both of their shoulders, eyes locked intensely on Harriet Potter’s. Harriet Potter, for her part, swallows heavily, smiling crookedly in greeting. The secretary's thin lips turn upwards ever so slightly in the corner — but otherwise, she doesn’t move a fraction of an inch. It’s _unnerving_.

Without seeming to notice the interaction, Weasley turns Emil around and marches him out the door. “I’ll talk to you later, Harry!” He calls without looking back.

“Yeah, Ron, for sure. Say hi to Mione for me.”

The sweep past the secretary, who smells of an expensive perfume that Emil subtly tries to freaking inhale as he walks by. She doesn’t say anything except for a, “Don’t think of stopping by for another month, Weaslebee,”, which Weasley responds to with, “So I’ll stop by tomorrow for tea, yeah?”

The secretary slams the door behind them.

Emil stands in the waiting room a new man. He inhales the stale, recycled air of the waiting room with twelve floating chairs and exhales deeply. He takes a long, blissful moment to process this news. Then he twists around to look up at his new mentor. “So!” He chirps gleefully. Weasley is staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. “What’s the plan for tomorrow, Auror Weasley?”

“Call me Ron,” He murmurs, tapping his finger against his chin. Then he says, “Hold on a tick, thanks,” Before whirling around and throwing the office door open. “Nearly forgot! Hermione wanted me to ask if you both and Teddy wanted to come over tonight for — _Merlin! Again!?_ ”

Emil turns around despite every bone in his body telling him not to.

And then doesn’t know whether he feels blessed or mortified at what he sees.

The secretary doesn’t even move from where she’s seated on Harriet Potter’s lap, her outer robe shucked onto the floor — a disgraceful treatment of such a fine robe, Emil can’t help but think. Her face is flushed, her cheeks two blazing spots of pink, and her lips are already swollen despite the men not having been gone for long. A few buttons of her blouse are undone, and her elegantly twisted hairdo has been taken down. Harriet Potter’s fingers are still caught in it.

And Harriet Potter looks no better than her secretary. She, at least, has the decency to look embarrassed, except when she tries to gently usher her — mistress? Secret lover? Life partner? — secretary off of her lap, the pale girl seems to resolutely _not move,_ which renders all embarrassment moot. Her hair doesn’t look any messier than it did before, but her robes are certainly dishevelled, and there’s a _mark_ beginning to bloom on her neck, and _Emil_ —

Emil just doesn’t understand how so many things could _happen so fast._

“Get _out_ , Weasley!” The secretary — or maybe not??? — snaps, shaking her head irritably. “We’re _busy._ ”

“Yeah you are,” Weasley dumbly replies, studiously avoiding looking directly at the scene. Emil can’t look away. “Sorry, Harry. Didn’t mean to say that.”

Harriet Potter’s face is now completely red. She croakily replies, “’S okay, Ron. What was it Hermione wanted?”

“Er, I think I should tell you later — ”

The secretary’s lips pinch. “Too late for modesty now. Might as well spit it out.”

Weasley nods, cringes violently, and then nods again. “No, yeah, you’re right.” He says, following with nothing.

Harriet Potter makes a pained noise. “ _Ron._ ”

“Right!” Weasley jumps. He looks three different types of disturbed. “Right, ‘course. Hermione wanted to know if you two and Scorpius were free for dinner tonight. Since George and Angelina are stopping around with Fred and Rox, she figured we could make it a family affair. Bill, Fleur and Victoire are showing up too.” He clears his throat awkwardly but his voice still breaks in the middle when he asks, “So, interested?”

“Merlin, Ron, of course we’re interested,” Harriet Potter blinks rapidly. “I wouldn’t turn that down, you know that. What about Percy? I heard from Parvati that he has a _boyfriend_ now. Is he finally over Penelope?”

“Yeah. About that ‘boyfriend’… it’s Oliver Wood.”

There was a sharp gasp. “ _No way!_ ”

Weasley’s head snaps to Harriet Potter. He points at her and says, “That’s what I said!”

“ _Our_ Oliver Wood?” Continues Harriet Potter, with an increasingly irate secretary in her lap. Harriet Potter seems to have completely forgotten her as she leans in Weasley’s direction, her mouth open in shock. “ _Gryffindor Qudditch Captain_ Oliver Wood? The same one who tried to drown himself in the showers when we lost to Hufflepuff? _He’s_ dating _our Percy?_ ”

Weasley is practically _vibrating._

He burst with excitement, saying loudly: “ _That’s what I said!_ ” before he and Harriet Potter dissolve into yelling, chattering _messes._

“But he—”

“Percy doesn’t even—”

“—I thought he was married to his _broom_ —”

“— _hates_ Qudditch, wouldn’t that be a deal breaker for Wood—”

“— _any sense_ —”

And together they finish in unison, shouting, “— how does it even _work_?!” They both pause, suddenly, unerringly still. Then they narrow their eyes and bark, “ _Jinx! Double jinx! Triple jinx!_ ”

Emil has never heard of such a thing before. Jinx? But where are there wands? Why are they just shouting it at each other like that?

The secretary has twisted to rest her elbows on the desk, which she uses to hold her head in her hands. She appears to be muttering to herself, sending dark looks to both Weasley and Harriet Potter. Emil can’t help but notice that she hasn’t removed herself from Harriet Potter’s lap so she can’t be _so_ angry. Then suddenly, she straightens like a cord of steel has been injected into her spine.

She presses her body flush against Harriet Potter’s and frames Harriet Potter’s face with her hands. She forces Harriet Potter to look at her, her displeasure written all over her face, and Harriet Potter goes so quiet so quickly it’s as if she’s been hit with a _Silencio_.

Weasley, too, comes down from where ever he just went, and cringes again at the two women. He declares to the room, “I’ll be off, then! I’ll tell Hermione you’ll be stopping by, Harry! It’s at the usual time!” before speed-walking out of the room.

Emil is slower to follow. He watches, enraptured, as the secretary melts into Harriet Potter's arms like her body was made to fit there. 

“I can’t believe you,” The secretary is whispering, “Morgana, it was like being _eleven_ again. Put you and Weasel in a room together and it’s like I’m not even here.”

“Sorry, Draco — _sorry_. Can’t help it sometimes. He _is_ my best friend.”

“I’m aware. I, however, am your _wife,_ Harry. We have a _child_ together. We’ve been dating since we were eighteen. Would it _kill_ you to prioritize me when I want to have sloppy make-outs with you like we’re teenagers again?”

“Er, no, definitely not.”

“ _Impossible._ Even after what you just did for me, you’re _still_ driving me mad. Only you.”

“Oi, careful. I _didn’t_ do it for you. I did it because the kid deserved a place here.”

The secretary raises her eyebrows and scoffs, shaking her head, seeming more bemused than anything. “Really? You’re saying that sob story about his parents making a bad decision to join the Dark Lord and spending the following years after the war working to repent _didn’t_ remind you of me?”

The smile that comes across Harriet Potter’s face is one full of love. Her eyes _shine_ , and the secretary smiles helplessly in response, tucking a lock of her bird-nest hair behind her ear. 

“I’m not saying it _didn’t_ , I’m saying—” And whatever Harriet Potter says next is lost to Emil when she raises her secretary’s — _wife,_  apparently— left arm and places her lips against the underside of her forearm.

A hand grabs Emil around the crook of his elbow and drags him bodily out of the room. Emil is still stumbling for balance as Weasley slowly closes the door, careful not to disturb anyone. Emil takes a moment to sort himself out, shaking off the weird atmosphere that sunk into his bones, trying to stop seeing the two women whenever he blinked.

Weasley turns around and doesn’t mention Emil’s disrespectful eavesdropping. Instead, he jams his finger into his ear, wiggles it around, stares disinterestedly down the hallway, and says: “So, here are the plans for tomorrow…”

And Emil promptly ( _temporarily)_ forgets all about Harriet Potter and her strangely beautiful, pointy secretary-wife.

It’s not any of his business anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Leave a review on your way out. Please and thank you!**


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